


Reparations.

by circlecross



Category: due South
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:10:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circlecross/pseuds/circlecross
Summary: This is capturing Ben's sojourn in hospital after he was shot. It hopefully has some of the delirium felt when your body is not your own.





	Reparations.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frasers_soulmate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frasers_soulmate/gifts).



The shot was still echoing in his ears. The point of entry was on fire, but numb. The loss of Victoria was like furrows raked across his heart.  
He stared unblinkingly at the floor from his hole through the mattress. He should drift away, let go of this shell he inhabited, let his spirit float away so he could find her. He felt heavy and tired. So tired. He felt weighed down with water. A tear slid down the side of his face. Then another. He couldn’t be bothered to wipe them away. They were parts of him letting go and he wanted to be gone.  
He had been about to go with her – abandon all he knew, all he had been. Be disloyal. Be dislawful. He had, for a moment, unleashed another person, a person from within HIM, and he felt confused, and unsure of who he really was now.  
He knew, deep down, how bad Victoria was for him, but somehow he had yearned for her. They had been so close to death together, and he felt their lives had been intertwined. He had thought they had saved each other for a reason, but hadn’t realised how deep her hatred ran. They were polar opposites then – his love had burned fierce, her hatred froze. He winced as the wound brought a fresh reminder of his folly. He had been so close. Now his heart was to freeze once more.  
The days blurred. He grew sleepy. His soul heavy. He felt grounded once more – a falcon with an injured wing remembering what it was to fly.  
When he woke, he had been placed on his side. He could see out of the window, or see his reflection, depending on how he focused. He had no interest in other people, but didn’t want to look at himself either, and see the emptiness in his eyes. So he shut them. Shut it all out.  
Another day. He was vaguely aware of voices, floral scent drifting to his nostrils, women crying. He opened his eyes. Night-time. Daytime.  
He was turned, washed, talked at. The bullet was still in there, he knew it. It was a reminder of his stupidity. Stupid to think he could be happy. It itched and burned him. Was this hell? He had read too many theologies to believe in that, but knew people construct their own divinity. He sighed deeply. He moved his fingers and watched them. It must be raining – his face was wet again. He drummed his fingers on the bed – see there are the raindrops. He frowned. His mind was unravelling. He made to turn on to his back, and gasped as the pain shot through him. It was another day.  
Today he felt angry. He wasn’t sure with what. Or whom. He drummed his fingers again. Heard voices. Felt a flutter of wings. Had she come back? He heard the words in his head, heard the poem, heard her voice. It was night-time. How had that happened? He wanted to sit up, so he pressed the button to alert a nurse.  
He opened his eyes. It was daytime. He must have escaped. There was an animal in his room. A dog. No, a wolf! Wait…that is my wolf, he thought. I have a wolf. I am a person. He frowned. There was a large, overstuffed toy something in his room. He had no memory of that. He still wanted to sit up, or had he done that already? An image of Victoria flashed into his mind. He had said she was the only woman he had ever loved. Was that true? He knew it wasn’t, but it had felt like it, while he danced in the flames. He had spent a long time carrying the image of her, the sound of her voice. He had been an adult, a policeman, rational, and she had broken down all those barriers. His carefully constructed barriers keeping the past in the past. It was night-time. Where was the nurse? Had he rang the bell, or just dreamed he had?  
He heard someone else – a man. Ray. That was his name. Yes, of course – how could he forget Ray? He would never forget Ray, and wondered if he really would have left. He had been choosing Victoria over Ray in that split second. Is that why Ray shot him? To prevent him going? He frowned and tried to stop thinking that way. He would forgive Ray.  
He opened his eyes. He was in a new gown. He smelled soap. He heard voices.  
He remembered he had legs. That he used to walk on. He was aware of sensation, of presence. He moved his toes. They were still there. Why wasn’t he walking? Maybe he should get up? He had wanted to get up before. He opened his eyes.  
A nurse was there. She smiled at him and sat on his bed. He tried to smile and found it difficult. His face felt tired.  
She patted his hand. “Good afternoon, Constable Fraser. My name is Clare. Do you know where you are?”  
He rolled tears prickling eyes around and nodded. His throat felt constricted, but he managed to croak “hospital”.  
“That’s right. You’re in the hospital. You’ve been in for two weeks. We’ve had you sedated some of that time, and we have been monitoring your wound. Do you remember being shot?”  
He nodded slightly. She smiled at him. “You’ve still got some healing to do. And you’re quite weak from inertia. We are trying to make you comfortable”.  
Ben attempted a thumbs up, and felt weary again.  
“You’ve had a few visitors. I know you’ve been asleep for most of them, but people care about you. Your friend Ray – he filled in your forms – put himself down as next of kin”.  
Ben felt a rush of emptiness, as if he were falling. Next of kin. He had no-one. People were all lost to him, one way or another. He felt exhausted even though he was doing nothing.  
He wondered if Victoria had visited. He knew deep down she had not, but he allowed himself to believe that she had cared. She had cared enough to track him down, for whatever reason. He had still been in her mind if not in her heart. He wriggled his toes again. A time to start again. Like a kintsugi pot, he would mend his breakages with gold and let his failings become a shining part of him.  
He opened his eyes. Dief glanced towards him. Ben gave his lop-sided grin. Time to mend the cracks.


End file.
